The Pen and the Curse

Let’s talk about what it means to financially sabotage a generation—because that’s exactly what student loans have done. And they did it with a smile, a “low” interest rate, and a signature from a teenager who barely knew how taxes worked. 🧾

At 18, I was handed a pen, a packet, and a curse disguised as opportunity.

“This is how you succeed,” they said.
“It’s an investment,” they said.

What they didn’t say?
That I’d be paying it off longer than most marriages last.

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The Illusion of Fine Print

My interest rate was 4%. Not the worst hex on paper. But even that “low” number carried heavy consequences. Not just monthly payments—missed milestones.

Student loans didn’t just cost me money.
They cost me time.
They delayed my ability to build savings.
To start a family.
To feel like I was standing on solid ground instead of constantly sinking.

It wasn’t just debt. It was a detour I never fully signed up for.

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A System Built on Prophecy

Sure, they offered loan “counseling.” A few bland slides. A digital quiz. Did I absorb it? Not really. Because what teenager actually reads that stuff?

Most high schools don’t even require personal finance. I did take one my senior year 📚—but even that didn’t prepare me for contracts that felt like ancient spells written in invisible ink.

By then, the prophecy had already been planted:

“Go to college or you’ll be flipping burgers forever.”
“Get good grades so you can get into a good school.”
“Don’t end up like so-and-so—he didn’t go to college.”

By the time graduation rolled around, it wasn’t a choice.
It was destiny.

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Borrowed Money, Borrowed Magic

Here’s the kicker: I didn’t even need those loans.

My grants covered tuition—and then some. But the school dangled loans anyway, like a spellbook cracked open to the wrong page. 🕯️

No one said, “Hey, you actually don’t need this.” Because they profit whether you use it wisely or not.

I didn’t blow my loans on booze or beach trips.
I used them to help my mom with rent.
To fix my car so I could even get to school.
To buy a MacBook, camcorders, editing software—everything I needed to chase film. 🎬

I was a teenager casting spells with borrowed money and blind faith. And no one warned me how long the smoke would linger.

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Paper Degrees, Real Work

Guess what? My degree hasn’t gotten me a single job. My experience has.

I worked for the state for seven years—doing something that had nothing to do with film. Nothing I studied. Nothing I trained for. Just a steady paycheck and a whole lot of irony. 🖋️

Long, tedious days. Building things from scratch. That’s what made me valuable—not the overpriced paper in a padded folder. 🎓❌

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Here’s My Two Cents (Whether You Asked or Not)

Aid should only go toward careers that actually require extensive, formal education. Medicine. Law. Engineering. The paths where a degree isn’t optional—it’s the key.

I say this as someone who pursued the arts—and still fiercely supports them. But you don’t need a degree to be an artist. You need curiosity. Grit. A little luck. Not five-figure debt for a diploma that doesn’t guarantee a damn thing.

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The Real Spell at Work

I wasn’t irresponsible—I was uninformed. And that matters, because entire generations signed their futures away before they even had a credit score.

I borrowed hope at eighteen and got invoiced for regret at twenty-three.
The system didn’t just haunt me—it fed on my inexperience.
Interest compounding like a curse I never meant to cast.

Would I love full forgiveness? Absolutely. But I understand the frustration of those who clawed their way out already.

That’s why I keep chanting the simplest counter-spell I know:

Erase the interest.
Let us repay only what we borrowed—no more, no less.

Justice over jackpot.
Balance over bankruptcy.

Because a loan shouldn’t feel like a life sentence for daring to dream.

Signed. Sealed. (Still) Screwed—
but finally wise to the magic behind the curtain. 🕯️✨